JUNE 17th, 2014.

This same tree that always haunts me.
This same hill that I’m always coming back to.

A young Seth sits atop a small hill with a large, dying oak tree in the middle of its peak, which casts a large shadow in front of him. There’s a vast, expansive plane of bright green grass stretching to the horizon in every direction. A pale blue sky complements painterly clouds, casting themselves in wisps against a calm, white sun.
To Seth, this place remained in his deepest, oldest memories. He viewed this world through eyes that belonged to him a long time ago, as if he was trapped in a cage: created from a body that was distorted in time.
These dreams should be moments of calm.
However…

…It was the opposite for him.

“Seth… Do you ever wonder what it’s like after you die?”
A pure-white-haired boy with piercing pinkish eyes who wears a white t-shirt and grey cargo shorts, around Seth’s age from when this memory originated, cuts through the silence of this dream-like world as if he used a blade to do so.

Why are you here…? Why are you always here…?

The boy looks at Seth again, slightly cocking his head.
“Hello? Seth…?”

You shouldn’t be here…

“Gabriel…” Seth begins to say, with his younger form made apparent by his voice.
“...Kinda? Doesn’t everybody?”

Stop… stop it…

Gabriel ponders on it for a moment, putting his index finger to his bottom lip.

“You think so…?”

The younger Seth nods his head approvingly.
“Yeah… Rena talks to me about it sometimes.”

Don’t… you’re not allowed to say that name.

Gabriel looks down at the grass, blowing against the wind as the light peering between the leaves above them dances off of the blades, creating a mesmerizing pattern.
“That’s surprising…” he begins to say, trying to figure out how he feels.
“I’m too scared to talk about it. I… don’t like thinking about it.”

“Really?” Seth asks.
“Why?”
Something… odd, happens when younger Seth asks this. It’s as if the world ‘glitches’, while not being something artificial. The atmosphere begins to shift, and the sunny sky that painted the sky begins to become covered by a menacing grey. Both of the boys’ voices are slightly altered at moments, distorted for only a split second.

“Aren’t you scared of dying?” Gabriel asks Seth, confused by his question.

“Well… yeah, of course I am.”

Don’t answer his questions, don’t look at him.

“The older care workers…” Gabriel says, a hint of sadness resting in his voice.
“They have it the worst. I can tell they’re scared of dying… of leaving all the children alone.”

Shut up… Just shut the hell up.

Gabriel’s tone shifts, leaving behind the facade he’d been wearing.
His lips parted as if it was a different person entirely, who wore his skin like a suit.

“I can see you.”

A piercing feeling of dread stabs itself through Seth’s spine.
Gabriel, or at least, the figure who appears to be Gabriel, looks through the eyes of the young Seth in front of him as if there’s something behind them.

“You can’t die… How could you ever know their fear?”

Gabriel smirks, standing up as the clouds that surround the area swirl into storms, blotting out the light from the sun.

“God gives us the right to die as a way to appreciate the time we have alive. The inevitable will happen to everyone…” the thing behind Gabriel’s skin says, growing increasingly sinister. “...Except for you. You are a paradigm of God’s hatred.”

In the blink of an eye, the surrounding area was doused in flames, and the entire atmosphere of the world had shifted. The plains and everything else around Seth and Gabriel were slowly burning, even the great oak next to them had been altered to a crisp. Ash floats freely in the air, suffocating anything that hasn’t been touched by flame. The sky itself is black, as if God had angrily spread the darkest ink imaginable across it, cursing it for existing. Blotting out a mistake, refusing to accept that it could exist, an imperfection.
A scourge.
The thing uses Gabriel’s body, visibly made of a shell of porcelain-like material, to smile and cackle at Seth, gloating in his pain. Painful screams echo in every direction, bouncing off every surface they possibly can, exemplifying the desolation each of their owners feel. Even if the ones responsible were burning alive, they would not be able to scream for this long.
Their vocal cords would rip.
Their lungs would melt away.
Their bodies would char and be unable to move, helplessly accepting their fate.
And yet, the screaming continued. It could not stop, as the only reason it existed was to remind a man of his mistakes. Of what he failed to do, failed to be, and could never redeem himself for.
If, by chance, there was a Hell made of fire and brimstone, ongoing for eternity…

…Seth would have rather chosen that, than even three seconds of this agony.

“Seth… When they burned up…”

Flashes of the scene enter Seth’s mind.
A burning two-story building in the plains, with large pillars surrounded by blocky four-pane windows and two large front doors. All on fire. Endless screaming.

“...Why didn’t you save them?”

Seth screams, internally. Not being able to speak through his younger self’s body, that’s all he can do. Just by the tone, someone could tell that he’d be digging his fingernails deep into the ash-ridden, burnt ground if he could move his body.
He would be slamming his forehead into the ruined ground until he fell unconscious… but he can’t do any of that.
All he can do is wait until he wakes up.

It hurts.
He can’t describe it in more detail, that will only validate his experience.
It has to be as simple as possible, to be something that won’t stick in his mind.
That can act like a fleeting memory, that his brain can erase long enough to stabilize in its absence.

It hurts.
Gabriel’s body stands over Seth, looking half-satisfied, and half-disgusted. Mocking him with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk, a noticeable crack forms under its left cheek.

“Oh…” it trails off, intrigued by circumstances unknown to anyone but it.
“Interesting. We’ll meet again… Seth.”

As the world twists and distorts around Seth, destroying the very structure it is made up of, he winces in pain one last time.

And then, all of it is a blinding white.
All of the sounds, fallen silent.
The ash, no longer present.

He finally, cautiously, begins to open his eyes.

. . . . .


Seth jolts forward, sitting up in his bed while gasping, feeling at his throat. He’s alive. Safe, and most importantly, out of that dream world.
He clenches his fists, angry at his own mind for forcing that pain onto him.
In the same moment, he realizes the futility of that way of thinking, and falls backward on his bed.

Shit… I don’t know how many more of those I can deal with.

Seth lay atop his bed, sprawled out uncomfortably in a star-shaped position.
His eyes wince toward the ceiling.

Seeing Gabriel again…
Seth feels a slight tug of his heart, seeing his old friend’s face, even in a nightmare…

No, that wasn’t him.
He clenches his fists, trying to push the idea out of his mind.
It’s just my brain haunting me with memories I don’t want.

Seth leans over to check the time on his watch, meekly raising his arm to his chest, and is surprised to be met with a very disappointing eight-thirty in the morning.

Right… Feno’s… gone. Nobody else around to get a job from.

He places his hand near the back of his head, scratching against his hair while contemplating his options.
There’s that convenience store down the corner… No, I can’t give up that easily.

He slowly moves his torso, then his legs off of the bed, dragging himself across the floor over toward his jacket.
Should probably start by investigating myself, I guess. The person in that mask that pushed me, and whatever that 'contract’ was.

Putting his arm through the right sleeve, he pauses to think for a moment.

If I ever slept with anything but that nightmare, I’d think it was all a dream.

After sluggishly getting dressed, he exits the door to his apartment.


. . . . .


The area outside of the internet cafe is the same as usual. The concrete that makes up the sidewalk is full of cracks and is poorly maintained, with weeds blossoming from beneath them. The two-story building is populated with countless signs of events and promotions, all of which he pays zero attention to.

I remember going to that one book signing a while ago… Didn’t that guy get outed for tax fraud? Makes sense, I guess, with all the Center’s media regulations in place.

As Seth walks inside the internet cafe, he’s met with a warm orange light surrounding the entrance, surrounded by shelves of various novels, comics, and cheap films The entire cafe smells of various instant-make and carry-out foods mixed with a hint of the pumpkin-spice candle that the manager always lights. To his right is a counter, with the usual employee missing, as to be expected at this point. Seth shrugs it off and walks forward.

One time when I was here, I remember thinking to myself:  ‘oh, I wish my life wasn’t so mundane’...
I wish I’d never said anything, in hindsight.

The cafe is mostly silent, though there’s a few regulars minding their own business, searching through various forms of media here and there. Ignoring them, Seth opens the door belonging to the fourth booth: practically his home away from home. A singular computer tower stands to the right of the desk, with a monitor to the left of it and a keyboard and mouse combo close to the edge. They rest on a plain wooden table, surrounded by red fabric-lined walls and a soundproof foam ceiling. Seth pulls the rolling chair in front of the desk out and sits down, reaching for the computer’s power button.

Wait, I almost forgot…

After reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a small dongle that’s around the width of half his palm, with a button on the top. Pressing it with his thumb, he attempts to insert it into a USB-B slot near the back of the computer.

That’s the wrong side. Of course.

He flips the dongle, and fully inserts it this time.

And… there. No risk of unwanted eyes seeing anything.

Booting up the computer, it whirrs on after a few moments.

First things first…

Seth pulls up the search browser, and types in the word “progenitor”.
Scrolling through the results that pop up, he clicks on a dictionary site and reads the first interpretation under his breath.
“...A person or thing that first indicates a direction, originates something,  or serves as a model… also known as a ‘predecessor’ or a ‘precursor’.”

That… doesn’t make any sense.
Seth has his hand resting against his right cheek, with his elbow propped up on the table.
When that person pushed me… they said, ‘Welcome to the free world.’
Then... what am I the ‘progenitor’ of?
Seth leans forward, placing both hands’ fingers on the middle keys of the keyboard.